


Face Forward, Move Slow, Forge Ahead

by J (j_writes)



Category: The Avengers (2012)
Genre: Gen, Post-Canon, Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-05-06
Updated: 2012-05-06
Packaged: 2017-11-04 23:09:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 875
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/399229
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/j_writes/pseuds/J
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He grew up reading about heroes, and when he was old enough to enlist he showed up to the recruiting office and signed on the dotted line, at least half because he needed to convince himself that there were still people in the world who fit into that category.  [post-movie, contains spoilers!]</p>
            </blockquote>





	Face Forward, Move Slow, Forge Ahead

**Author's Note:**

> contains movie spoilers. possible beginning of a fix-it 'verse.

He grew up reading about heroes, and when he was old enough to enlist he showed up to the recruiting office and signed on the dotted line, at least half because he needed to convince himself that there were still people in the world who fit into that category.

He never considered becoming one of them.  
______________

A new name, a new city, and two new positions later, he still caught himself starting his signature with the wrong letter sometimes. The first time, it was on a personal check that he ripped up immediately, tearing the evidence to shreds and discarding them with what was probably unnecessary finality. The second time, it was on a form being sent to Fury, and there was nothing he could do but cross it out and hope that Fury didn't notice.

"This isn't your first reassignment, Agent," the message on his phone reminded him flatly. "Get your shit in order."

He deleted the message without replying, and the next time he ended up with a couple of days, he got on a plane.

He didn't think about it until he was standing there, grass damp and springy under his feet, the stone in front of him a dull gray, as innocuous as the man buried there had ever been in life. The lines of the letters carved into it were crisp and neat, and he didn't touch them, just looked at them for a long time before settling down into the grass in front of the stone, tucking his knees up, and staring at his own reflection through the letters of the name that used to be his.

He heard someone approaching long before he actually saw him out of the corner of his eye, hovering in the space behind him, clearly trying to make himself known before interrupting.

"You're not who I expected," he said instead of turning to look, and he heard the Captain let out a low laugh.

"You had to know the site was being tracked."

"Because who else would visit?" Coulson let a faint smile hover over his lips for a moment. "I suspected, yes."

"You came anyway."

"I'd ask that you keep it to yourself, but I don't think that I need to."

"I have three messages on my phone from Fury," Steve said. He stepped a little closer. "I haven't checked them yet, but I can guess what they're going to say."

Coulson looked up at him finally, and gestured to the grass next to him. "It's wet," he warned, but Steve sat anyway. "You've been keeping an eye on me."

Steve made a noncommittal noise. "I think a more accurate term would be trying to get an eye on you," he admitted. "Now that I have one, maybe I can keep it. It's not the easiest thing to do, when you're about 85% certain the person you're after is dead."

"85%, huh?" Coulson raised his eyebrows, impressed. "Either Fury's off his game, or you're more skeptical than we ever gave you credit for."

"Fury's never off his game," Steve replied, and left it at that. He nodded at Coulson's jeans. "No suit?"

"It's my day off." The words felt unfamiliar in his mouth.

Steve laughed quietly. "They give you those, now?"

"Sometimes."

Steve scrutinized him. "Still with SHIELD?" he asked.

"You know I'm not going to answer that." 

"I know." He fell quiet, and it wasn't often that Coulson felt the need to fill silence with words, but this was one of those times.

"It's not the first time they've killed me off for convenience," he said, "and it probably won't be the last."

"Whose convenience?" Steve asked with a familiar hint of bitterness to the words, and Coulson raised his eyebrows at him. Steve sighed. "Coulson – " he began, then cut himself off and tilted his head. "That's probably not your name anymore, is it? Was it even real?"

"They're all real," Coulson replied without elaborating. 

"Is this permanent?" Steve asked. He waved a hand at Coulson. "This…situation."

Coulson shrugged. "Death usually is."

"Usually," Steve replied. He looked at the headstone for a few moments before saying, "I had to go see mine, too, when I got back."

"Yours is nicer," Coulson said.

"Doesn't make it any easier."

"No," Coulson agreed, and they lapsed into silence. 

Steve shifted beside him, finally, stretching out his legs. "So, look, I don't know what they have you doing, and I probably never will, but if you ever get bored, I have this team that could sometimes use an outside opinion on some decisions."

"A team, huh?" Coulson smiled faintly. "A good one?"

"The best," Steve said. "Here." He reached and tucked something into Coulson's coat pocket. "I'll leave you my card."

He stood, clapping Coulson on the shoulder and letting his hand stay there for just a moment too long, and then he was gone, walking off briskly with long even strides. Coulson waited until he had vanished from sight before he reached into his pocket and pulled out the card.

His laugh caught in his throat, and when he finally stood to leave, he left it propped up against the stone, faded and bloodstained, a tiny hero keeping watch over the plot.


End file.
